


Sucker Punch

by TheMockingCrows



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Biting, Blood, Frottage, Hate Sex, M/M, Punching, saliva
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 08:07:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMockingCrows/pseuds/TheMockingCrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Dave are close friends. Close in the online sense. In person, their personalities get so much in the way that it's less of a friendship and more of a contest to see who can keep their sanity longest. After class lets out today, will they manage to come to some kind of agreement? Or will it wind up being little more than a wham, bam, thank you man?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sucker Punch

It made no sense. None of this made any sense.

You've hated Dave Strider and his weird hobbies, his creepy family and his poser attitude for years. Yet, without fail, you've been placed in most of his classes for college freshman year. Same as High school. Same as Middle school. Without fucking fail, Dave and his shades and his ego haunt you.

As does his ass, those long legs, the flat stomach and the toned arms. He was actually pretty damn attractive if he kept his fucking mouth shut. Which was rare, if he managed to get on a tangent. Why couldn't he be more like you? Egbert's were a hardy stock, mostly level headed, and at least when a rant was involved it had a point most of the time!

Absolutely everything about this guy pissed you off if you were near him for more than five minutes, which definitely made it awkward considering you were friends. At least online there was a way to ignore his chatter and keep him at bay, other distractions. In person he was an overwhelming tidal wave of banter and just... Dave. There was no other way to describe him.

Dave Strider was a force of nature in his own right, and in that same all encompassing swirl of thought, you wanted to bang the guy senseless. First and foremost with your fists, to get some of the built up rage out. Then.. Maybe up against a wall hard enough to wipe the carefully arranged smirk off his face, make him lose his cool. Make him scream your name and beg, scrabble those short nails along the tiles in the bathroom while you trace every one of the scars you'd spotted over the years along his torso with your tongue. Anything to make him drop the attitude he worked so hard to keep up, ruin that not-so-perfect image.

When he'd leave the room it'd be covered in bruises, blood, bite marks and come. Hell, maybe you'd use a sharpie on his ass. Nah, somewhere more noticeable. If you ever got to do any of those things, you'd want to make damn sure everyone knew who did it. Dave Strider, property of John Egbert.

The thoughts sustained you during the boring morning lecture that you spend doodling ghosts and demons in your notebook along with passing comments and notes that managed to stick out to your ear as something they'd likely test you on. At least looking bored wouldn't take away participation points, so long as you managed to stay awake through the drone.

It was during intro English, however, that the thoughts went more primal. After all, this was the first class of the day you'd have together since the plans came into mind. This class was also one of the biggest pains in your ass as far as Dave's attitude went. When anyone had to read their work aloud, his hand always raised up high first and foremost. Thankfully, he was usually passed over, the teacher already used to his rambling methods that.. somehow managed to get him good grades.

Slightly off topic, Mr. Strider, but you definitely detailed the subject in its entirety. I didn't know half the things you mentioned and wouldn't shut up about, gold star, bravo, round of applause, now sit down and shut up so someone else can actually talk for once. No need to show off your extensive but mostly useless vocabulary, yes yes, very nice, moving along before class is dismissed.

\- - - - - - -

Who does John even think he is? It's different when you're online, with Jade or Rose to run interference between the two of you. But this? With him just staring at you like a creeper all the time, barely managing to hide his annoyance with whatever happened to crawl up his ass and die that particular day in search of the deeply wedged stick he's had since birth, there was little options given to ignore him.

He was there. A force to be reckoned with, doubly so since his growth spurt finally hit and shot him almost two inches taller than yourself. John and his stupid teeth that were finally getting braces at the end of the year, his chronically messy wire mass of hair, his amazing blue eyes behind those coke bottle glasses. Not to mention his arms, like seriously, god damn. If he wasn't such a whiner about sparring and strifes, odds are he'd be a pretty good work out partner. You know, more than just being a helpful spotter at the gym.

You know just how much that body can be capable of in the right circumstances from the wrestling you'd do with each other as kids, horseplay and rough housing. Back when he was still a shrimp with a few extra inches of baby fat clinging to his hips and stomach, but with enough rage to trample a bull straight out of a ring when he got wound up enough. Just enough sarcasm and dismissive comments, enough well placed sick beats and rhymes, and bam: John would lift you up over his head like some pint sized Hulk and try to break the sofa with your spine.

Would he still be able to do that? Probably. You're all lean muscle and long limbs, he's bulked up a bit over the years. Thank God it wasn't too noticeable, or he'd make a big point of comparing the two of you and probably joking and pranking in a not so rad way about your skinny ass. Not your damn fault. Bro's the same way. Long arms and legs, big feet and hands, long necks, narrow as hell hips. Doesn't impair anything important. Just means it sticks out more, y'see, and makes shopping for jeans a pain in the ass.

Maybe that's all that needed to happen to clear the air: a good throw down. A hard spar would probably set things straight. Or black John's eyes enough that he'd not be able to stare at you for another fucking day and you'd get some peace to yourself. An offer would be rejected outright, you reason as you doodle in your notebook, avidly ignoring both John's lingering stares and the professors Ben Stein impression. Maybe a sudden spring would work best.. Yeah. A sudden attack if alluding to it didn't work.

Get John would up enough that he pops, and just ride it out to the end. Bonus: you'd probably be able to pin him down. Maybe accidentally kiss him or something. If nothing else, a well aimed grab would let you figure out what you're competing with downstairs.

And provide wank fodder for a few months to boot if the grab is well aimed enough.

\- - - - - -

“So, John, there any particular reason you've been givin' me the stink eye?” asked Dave once class had ended, looking down at John's face as he leaned over his desk. The shadow he cast wasn't that impressive in the yellow artificial light, but it left enough of an impression to show he meant business. After all, he was being direct today instead of wasting twenty minutes talking about unrelated garbage that he'd said dozens of times before in different iterations. A step in the right direction.

“Oh, you mean you can see me over your ego? Wow, will wonders never cease!” John snarked, closing his notebook and looking upwards into his own reflection on Dave's ever present shades. “I guess I was looking now and then, yeah. Mostly trying to figure out how on Earth you managed to haul that inside the room without assistance.”

John wasn't holding any punches today, apparently. When he started to pull back his notebook to slide it into his backpack, Dave kept it pinned thoroughly in place with the heel of his hand.

“You'd be amazed what I can see. After all, I spotted a dick head from across the room in the middle of class. Though, I'm not sure if that's really an accomplishment or not, considering I see the same dickbag in this class every time. And others, if you wanna get mighty specific. Kinda amazed you don't get whacked with an indecent exposure warning any time you go out, all hangin' out like that.”

Dave's lips twitched into a smirk when he saw the faintest traces of color mark John's cheeks. Perfect. When the classroom began to quickly empty, the professor already packed and gone, John waited till the door clicked shut to reply.

“I'm kinda amazed they even let you attend school here, Dave. What, your brother buy your way in for you?”

Dave's face froze for a moment, icy, before it turned dark in frustration. Oh, yeah. He knew what his home life was like. Living like lower class while the business deals from his brother kept putting a roof over his head and the newest technology in his palm while he was attending school and beyond. The day that John Egbert made fun of someone for being rich was the day push came to shove.

Quite literally, actually. Dave planted his hands against John's shoulders and pushed him as hard as he could, tipping his metal legged chair back onto its hind legs as the brunette flailed his arms to try stopping the wobble or at least catch his fall. John hit the ground with a hard “oof”, rolling to his side so he could spring to his feet faster and return fire with a similar shove to Dave's shoulders. They were alone now, after all. This room wasn't in use for the rest of the day according to normal schedules. The professor likely assumed they'd turn the light off before they left, or the janitor would get to it tonight when he cleaned the rooms up and emptied the wastebaskets.

While Dave didn't fall down, he did waver quite badly before lowering his head and charging with his arms down, looking to headbutt in response like an angry ram. It was a silent attack, as per his usual style.. though the ramifications were far from quiet when it sent himself and John both careening backwards into, over top, and behind a few desks as they were knocked out of the way by their antics.

“Why do you always have to be like this?!” shouted John as they finally stopped rolling, gripping at Dave's arms and shaking him as hard as he could to prevent him from settling into a firm pin over his shoulders. If Dave pinned him, it would take hard work to get free and regain any upper hand. Best end this quickly, in that case.

“Like what? You've been askin' for this for YEARS Egbert, don't even deny it. One good spar, and bam: you won't be such a little weevil offline anymore. Everything'll be cool.”

“WEEVIL? I'd rather be a weevil than a- HEY! Watch where your damn hands are going!” John shouted, dancing his hips away from Dave's wandering hand. Had he just felt him up? He did, didn't he. That son of a bitch honestly just copped a feel in the middle of what was turning into a fully fledged fight? Two could play at that game, and beyond. If Dave was the one playing hardball to begin with, then there was no shame in playing a bit on his own, right?

When Dave shifted to get rid of the copping hand, John followed him heavily, rolling them once more till their shoulders were resting against a felled table, John laying flat atop his torso as he held Dave's upper arms down with his splayed hands.

“John, lay off the cake and get -off-, I don't think my dick can handle your ass. Jesus dicks, does your dad sew bricks into your hoodies, or do you just get off on filling your briefs with cement? Inquiring minds wanna know while keepin' their wind,” Dave wheezed, arching his back to try scooting out from his friends grasp, writhing as he tried to scoot loose. Being so skinny had the major advantage that trying to seriously keep him pinned was like trying to keep a piece of cooked, greased spaghetti at bay with the back of a spoon.

“What about the other way around?” John grunted, jerking his hands down to Dave's wrists before he started trying to force them up above his head on the ground. “You were feeling me up not five minutes ago, you creep.”

“Creep? Says the guy tryin' the pin me down while talkin' about shovin' his dick up my ass,” Dave grunted as the struggle was on again. It was apparent John wasn't going to get off of him any time soon, nor that he'd be able to squeeze away in one slip.. Perfect. He'd be able to get out that frustration after all, and most likely lure John into giving him a little more wank material before the bout was over. Who knew. If they had to go get stitches or something stupid afterward, they might be cool enough to handle getting some dinner or something while they waited to get picked up.

Weirder things happen when you bond over bloodshed. Especially when half of it may very well be your own blood. Without giving himself a chance to overthing, Dave jerked his right hand down, freeing it from the weaker grip of John's left hand. Before he could be overtaken once more, he'd gotten a clear shot to John's face with his fist and knocked his glasses askew. While he was still dazed, Dave socked him again, this time to the cheek with more force as there was nothing to deflect the shot.

John tasted blood in his mouth and realized his cheek was bleeding inside his mouth. His head ached, and his blood was racing. He'd get a hell of a headache soon. Dave.. Dave was smiling. The douchelord was smiling and trying to pop his knuckles down there on the ground. Knuckles he'd knocked out of alignment against John's face without any remorse, apparently. John returned the favor to Dave's nose, thumping it hard enough that it started to bleed. The second hit he aimed at his cheek sent his shades off balance when he kicked and rolled, forcing their combined weight towards the side neither of them were blocking or supporting properly.

The punching game turned steadily into a wrestling match now that Dave was bleeding, bright red dribbling down his face and onto his shirt, making his pale face look two shades lighter when he got the slightest bit dizzy from it. His lips, surprisingly full, looked almost painted.

Their range was the square made from the haphazard desks around them, John lifting Dave up off his knees and dropping him only to come down on empty ground himself when he tried to use a move he was pretty sure he'd seen on professional wrestling when he was younger. Dave clambering onto John's back to try choke holding him, smearing the back of his shirt with blood.

Punches rained down when there was room for it or energy to spare between struggling for dominance, rolling around in their makeshift ring, wheezing from their mouths. Every so often, Dave's nose would whistle in a high pitched way like a dog toy that had just been squeezed. No doubt, he'd find some way to pass off these new marks and scars without question. After all, he turned up every week with something bandaged or wrapped or stitched, thanks to his brother. Most of them looked to be home surgery fixes with the help of Youtube and way too much practice.

John.. everything would point to him getting his ass kicked, even if he was the one who won. Because he'd have a black eye and was generally soft spoken. He wasn't the fighter, he was the.. What even was he? Not Dave. Dave's reputation preceded his arrival in such a way that the only time anyone commented on his bandages was to ask when the cast was coming off this time, or how hard he'd fallen during the spar to get a scrape that large on his leg. Dave was a guy who fought constantly and had the scars to prove it.

John was a guy who went to school, went home, did his homework, played video games and goofed around online till way too late at night before going to bed. Not a fighter. He could bench press more than some people could believe while listening to classical music, or some audio books. But John Egbert wasn't “That Fighting Guy”.

Right now, he was Painful Erection Guy as Dave straddled his lap and punched at his face, trying to dodge return fire that sent small sprays of red from his lips. They were both going to be covered in bruises come tonight, and part of him was satisfied. Part of him was.. absolutely adoring it. After all, what other situation would result in Dave bouncing on his dick like he was, even if it was accidental? Instead of guarding his face, John gripped at Dave's hips and forced him down a few times to bounce with him in the hopes of getting some more much needed friction. The LEAST he could do was get off, or as close as he could before cleaning up in the bathroom.

Dave didn't seem to mind, using it as a new form of torture while he wiped the blood from his face onto his long sleeve shirt, grinding his ass downwards against John's dick till he was seeing stars. While he was distracted and starting to moan, he leaned forwards to bite the side of his neck, drawing blood anew from the bronze flesh. Though his pleasure filled moans had turned to hollers and cursing and complaints, they were left undisturbed to continue rolling and struggling and fighting.

At one point, Dave wound up with his face smashed into the floor and his ass slightly up in the air, John latched onto his waist from behind as he rutted dryly in place. At another, Dave got John onto his back and settled between his legs, thrusting as he was kicked in the backs of his thighs by drumming feet, pale blonde hair being tugged roughly. When Dave wound up on John's lap again, the fighting turned to angry kissing, devouring each other as though the only path to survival lay at the back of their tongues. The kiss was salty with sweat and traces of blood from both of them, sweet with exhaustion and relief as they began to move with a mutual goal in mind.

It was John who finally started moaning first, starting up a symphony as they ground against one another, imagining what it would be like if they were actually having sex instead of dry humping in a classroom. Wondering what Dave felt like, if his skin was soft or not, if he shaved down there or if his groin was covered in dense blonde curls. Wondering what he'd feel like if he topped, or how close to heaven it would be to wind up buried up to the hilt in him instead.

The fight wasn't over when they came, messy and unpracticed in their jeans. Oh, no. There was more biting, more guilty shoving and punching. When the exhaustion and the endorphin finally caught up to them, there was more panting for breath with open mouths and sliding tongues, saliva flowing freely out the sides of their mouths as their lips barely closed. Swollen eyes shut as the fight steadily left them, John laying flat on his back to get back his air while Dave switched to laying on his side, trying to ignore the unpleasant sensation of come oozing along his thigh.

They both needed a shower and a change of clothes, likely some disinfectant and bandages. John's glasses frames would need replacing, likely, or at least a good realignment. Dave's likely needed a side replacement and a good buffing to get rid of any scratches. How could they explain the blood covering them both, their hands, their clothes, their mouths? John's mouth tasted only of Dave and exhaustion, while Dave's was bitter with Egbert and blood. He ran his tongue over his teeth a few times, then along the insides of his cheeks, testing for where the cuts were aside from the split on his lip.

Surprisingly, it was John who broke their silence, reaching down to where his dick was beginning to dry to his skin, trying to shuffle it around to make moving bearable aside from the ache in his muscles and head.

“Hey. Wanna order a pizza?”

“What, here?”

“Nah. My house.”

“Casa de Egbert covered in blood. I think your Dad'd skin me alive.”

“If you show up with me, there's something for you to change into and I can guarantee we'll wind up with a cake celebrating something or another within an hour of the pizza's arrival.”

Well. When he put it that way, it was hard to say no.

“You're on.”

Dave wondered if the next fight they had would lead to some good old fashioned oral or not. There would always be time to find out, at least. Maybe even this weekend, if he tried to get this dinner to turn into a sleepover. Last he heard, John still had Mario Kart around, and Dave was heavy handed with his blue shells.

**Author's Note:**

> Original tumblr post- http://themockingcrows.tumblr.com/post/59029089800/sucker-punch


End file.
